


One Silent Night

by 1917farmgirl



Category: The Young Riders
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1917farmgirl/pseuds/1917farmgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
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  <p>
    <img/>
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  <p>On a snowy Christmas Eve, Emma recieves a gentle reminder of the true meaning of the holiday.  </p>
  <p>(Written in 1998)</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	One Silent Night

**One Silent Night**

**Author’s Note:**  
This is the very first fanfic I ever wrote and posted somewhere. As such, it has a rather special place in my heart despite its flaws. As with my others, I’m posting it as is without editing.

First published: Christmas 1998. 

*****

Cold, bitter air met Emma as she stepped out of the warm house into the starry night. The bright moonlight reflected off the crusted drifts of snow and everything was calm and still. The peaceful silence almost had a holy feeling. Shivering slightly, she pulled her woolen shawl closer around her shoulders as she walked the path worn through the deep snow to the bunkhouse, careful not to slip and spill the pot of steaming tea she carried. 

Reaching the porch, she paused to look in the window, drawn by the cozy glow of candle light. Her eyes glanced around, taking in each empty bunk and coming to rest on the gleaming Christmas tree in the corner, its branches decorated in strings of dried berries and popcorn, each limb carefully sporting a shining candle. Finally, Emma looked at the figure sitting quietly in a chair by the stove, staring at the tree, his gentle face bathed in the soft light. Her motherly heart broke a little at the sight of this boy sitting there all alone; a boy whose work-hardened hands and beautiful green eyes told the story of a child forced too soon to become a man. Usually, the room would be filled with four other boys and one girl, all making enough racket to more than compensate for this one’s silence, but tonight it was just Ike. Claiming to have a headache, Ike opted to stay home while the rest of Emma’s “children” headed into town to enjoy the Christmas dance, but Emma knew the real reason. It’s hard to want to go to another dance after being called a “dummy” and a “freak” in front of the whole town by the father of the first girl you dare ask to dance. Emma sighed heavily before she pulled open the solid door and entered the warm room.

“Hey, Ike. I thought ya might like some hot, ginger tea,” Emma cheerfully greeted the boy who looked up at the opening of the door. Ike gave her his endearing smile and nodded ‘yes.’ She quickly set the pot on the glowing stove and bustled about finding two tin cups and pouring the tea before she turned back to Ike.

“Do ya mind if I sit with you for a while?” she asked as she handed him the steaming cup.

Again Ike answered with just a shake of his head.

Emma pulled her rocking chair up next to him and settled down with her own cup of tea. The spicy odor filled the small room and mingled with the scent of fresh pine needles, adding to the Christmas feeling. They sat for a while, enjoying the warmth before Emma spoke again.

“Is your head feeling better?”

Another nod.

Emma looked at the young man sitting next to her and sighed.

“Ya know, Ike, you’re gonna have to face ‘em again sometime. If ya always stay home that’s letting ‘em win.”

Ike glanced up at her quickly, surprise written across his face, then just as swiftly, he lowered his eyes again, blushing slightly at having been caught.

Laughing a little, Emma said, “Don’t worry, Ike. I ain’t chastising ya. I just don’t like ya being here all alone while the others are out having fun. Especially at Christmas.”

For the first time in the conversation, Ike answered with words, and Emma watched his hands carefully. She was far from fluent in this language yet, but the look on Ike’s face the first time she responded without waiting for Buck to interpret had given her more than enough motivation to be a quick learner.

*It’s okay. I don’t mind being here. But I’ll go next time, I promise.*

“If yer ready,” she told him gently. They lapsed into silence again, and Ike returned to staring at the tree.

“It’s probably not as big as the trees ya remember from the mission school, but I think it’s mighty nice, don’t you?”

For a moment, Ike didn’t give any indication of having heard, not taking his eyes off the shining tree. Then, without turning to look at Emma, he answered.

*We didn’t have Christmas trees at the mission. The sisters said it was…* The motion of his hands ceased, not having a sign for the word he wanted next. Quickly, he reached back on the table and grabbed a blank sheet of his drawing paper that was laying there and finding his pencil, proceeded to write one word.

“Pagan,” Emma finished his sentence by reading the word out-loud after he handed her the paper, and Ike nodded.

Now Emma knew why this tree had Ike so transfixed. It must have been the first one he’d seen in years! Involuntarily, Emma’s eyes started to smolder a little. _Not have Christmas trees! How could any place claiming to raise children not allow Christmas trees!_

Noticing the look on her face Ike felt compelled to say something in the sisters’ defense. They hadn’t been intentionally cruel to him, and their errors had been innocent ones, even if they had hurt the silent little boy. But they had done the best a group of overstretched women could to raise and care for an orphanage full of children. It wasn’t their fault if a few got forgotten in the corners. 

*It was okay. We still got a present every year. They were always fun until one of the other boys would steal mine,* he signed with a sad smile.

This confession, said so resignedly, nearly broke Emma’s heart. Her mind raced through all the wonders of childhood, and Christmas in particular, that all children should enjoy, and that this boy had been denied. Having nothing to say to words like that, Emma just returned Ike’s sad smile and sat there sipping her tea. She was sure Ike, never one for much conversation, had said all he would for the evening unless prompted, when he suddenly raised his hands again.

*My Mama loved Christmas trees. Every year Papa would bring her the best one he could find, even if he had to travel miles to get it.*

Emma watched his words in surprise. Ike had never before spoken of his family to her and Emma had never asked, learning all she needed to know from Buck. She knew how much it still hurt Ike to talk about them, but for some reason the absence of the others’ prying eyes and the presence of the tree had put Ike in the mood to open the doors of his memory. 

*My sister,* he signed followed by a gesture Emma was unfamiliar with. Ike noticed her confusion and paused long enough to write another word and show it to Emma: _Essie_. She nodded that she would remember the sign.

*My sister, Essie, and I would spend hours decorating it. Then Mama would set out her glass statues of the Holy Family under it as she told us the story, and then Mama would put her golden star on top of the tree and we would all sing a Christmas song.*

“My mama had a golden star too, Ike. I still have it, but I don’t put it on the tree anymore, it’s too special,” Emma said, feeling the need to share something as well after listening to Ike’s memories. 

Ike turned and smiled his sweet smile at her before gazing back at the tree. After a few minutes, however, he rose and walked over to the bunk-beds he shared with Buck, and reaching under the bottom one, dragged out the small wooden trunk that held all his belongings. Curiously, Emma watched as he reached inside and pulled out two items before closing it and returning to his chair. He set one on the floor out of Emma’s sight, and then sat for a long time turning the other over in his hands. Finally, he handed it to Emma for her to see. It was the figure of a tiny horse, expertly carved out of wood.

*Papa made that for me for Christmas when I was little,* he explained, his hands moving slowing.

With misty eyes, Emma gazed at the toy, noting the shiny surface, polished smooth, no doubt from years of holding. It could just fit into the palm of a child’s hand. A million thoughts raced through her mind, but the only thing she managed to choke out was the most insignificant of all, “Does it have a name?”

Ike’s face split with his customary grin, not the sad one he’d been using for the last hour. He quickly reached for the paper and wrote on it again, then handed it to Emma.

_Turdunt_

“Turdunt?” Emma repeated back with a puzzled laugh. “Why did ya name him that?”

*Because that’s the sound horses make when they run!* Ike signed and then proceeded to show her by rapidly clapping his hands together and then slapping them one at a time on each leg. He repeated the motion several times, and then Emma could hear it, too. _Turdunt, turdunt, turdunt_ : the rhythm of a horse’s hooves striking the ground; and a perfectly logical name for a horse in the mind of a child! 

“Well, that’s a unique name for sure,” she spoke as she laughed merrily. Then sobering again, she handed the toy carefully back to the young man. “He’s a beautiful memory, Ike.” 

Ike stood and returned the horse to his box before coming back to his chair by the stove. But instead of sitting down again, he came and stood next to Emma, and she noticed that he was now holding a package, carefully wrapped in brown paper. 

“What’s this?” she asked, taking the parcel he held out to her.

*It’s for you. It’s your Christmas present. You can open it now if you want.* Having said this, Ike ducked his head shyly, walked over to the door, and started putting on his coat. 

“Wait. Where are you going, Ike?”

*I need to feed the animals,* he answered simply, and then he was gone into the night.

Emma sat for a minute staring at the package in her hands and thinking of the young man who had just given it to her. Finally, she carefully tore the paper away to reveal the gift. There, lying in her lap, was a soft sketch of the Holy Family in a rough, handmade wooden frame. Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes and fell freely down her cheeks at the sight. It was only three days ago she had complained at supper about not having anything nice to decorate for Christmas with. She thought no one had heard her through Jimmy and Cody’s loud dispute, but someone had. The quietest one of them all had listened to her through the noise, and had obviously spent long hours making the gift she now held in her hands, hurrying to get it done so she could use it for the season.

In reverence, Emma gazed down at the drawing. Rough though it was, to her it was beautiful. There was Joseph, standing in the background, protecting his family from all the world. And there in the front was Mary, tenderly cradling her Child, the Son of God, in her arms. Emma wondered if a young mother ever knew the impression her words made on her son, for Ike to draw the mother and Child so tenderly. Still overcome with emotion, Emma muttered belatedly to the empty bunkhouse, “Thank you, Ike.”

And somewhere not so far away, another mother gazed down at her now grown son walking slowly through the radiant moonlight toward an old barn, and smiled through her tears.


End file.
